


Baby's Breath

by TriplePirouette



Series: Breathe Symphonies [7]
Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the “I Will Not Kiss You” Universe, Part seven of the Breathe Symphonies series. Jolie and Gold take a tense, quiet car ride to pick up a precious bundle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby's Breath

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Inspired by a reviews to “Sweet Catastrophe” which begged the questions as to why Gold wouldn't simply procure another child for Belle. Also, apparently I've invented a new genre with this series... “bittersweet.” It is such. 
> 
> AN2: Despite my belief that the stories in this series have only gotten better, I've seen a severe drop in reviews/comments. I never write FOR comments, but I'm left wondering if I've gone wrong somewhere. Readers on Fanfiction (dot)net, please drop me a short review if you favorite so I know why you're enjoying the story- and if there's any constructive criticism from anyone, I'd love to hear it. I also didn't think I'd be writing another one of these so soon, it's all because of comments that I did. You guys really inspire me! 
> 
> AN3: If you haven't listened to something Corporate's Hurricane yet, you should- it's the inspiration for most of the titles in this series.

Belle sits quietly in the passenger seat, watching trees and scenery fly by that almost, but don't quite, match her memories. Coastal Maine is a good try, but doesn't match the forest in her memories by a mile. She can see the tight line of her husband's jaw reflected in the glass of her window, the ghost of his face floating over the trees. It gives his skin a strange color that, in the back of her mind, somehow feels just as right as the pale soft skin she can see when she turns her head to the left. 

 

His knuckles are gripped tight around the leather of the wheel, the smallest indication of the tension that's been driving them apart for months. She's fully aware that he didn't want her to come, but he couldn't keep her away. It was a futile argument to try, and he gave up quick enough. 

 

She wasn't used to him giving up. 

 

She wasn't used to the way he'd behaved the last few months, either. He'd been quiet, secretive, strung tight with stress and short when it came to conversation. She can't remember the last time she saw him smile. 

 

She lolls her head back on the seat, watching him drive for a moment before she whispers in the quiet of the car. “Rum?” 

 

He licks his dry lips, his tongue smacking audibly on the top of his palate. “Yes?” He doesn't take his eyes from the road. For the foot of space between them, he might as well be a million miles away. 

 

Belle- very assuredly Jolie Gold at this moment- breathes a deep breath. There is no magic about the man next to her and there is no royalty about the way she sits slumped in the car. She's come to catalog her moments in this world: moments spent as Belle and moments spent as Jolie. Sometimes she's both, and sometimes she's firmly just the one side of herself. Right now she's a lonely young bride whose husband is as far away as he can be in the tiny car. The silence hangs heavy. “Why does this make you so sad?” 

 

He drags his hand through his hair, pulls at the stubble along his chin, and only sighs as his hand slaps back on the wheel. 

 

She turns away from him, looking instead to the scenery as it rushes past the window. This is how it has been. Silences long with words that aren't said, foreboding stares, tension...

 

“Sad is... not the right word.” His voice is rough, like it took a great amount of effort to force the words from his lips. 

 

She twists in her seat, pulling at the seat belt until she's leaning on her left shoulder, her legs pulled under her so that she can watch his every reaction. “Then what is?”

 

She watches but he is still, registering that he heard her with only a brief flick of his eyes. Even his stillness is telling: he's always been so relaxed, so in control. The tight coiling of his muscles, the way his shoulders rise up, his posture tells her so much more than his words do- she just doesn't know what it means. 

 

“I didn't want you to come.” His words cut deep, but she is undeterred. She's never gotten him to speak about it before. 

 

She doesn't back down and she feels the bravery of Belle creep into her. “I know. But I'm here.” 

 

He takes a deep, shaking breath. “I didn't want you to come, because he  _should_ be for you.” His hands twist on the steering wheel, but his eyes never leave the road. “But this child, he must go to Regina.” 

 

She feels the change, feels the shift, and she mixes back to one full person again; a complete puzzle piece to match him now that he's finally given her something to work with. Belle lifts a hand, moving it into his line of sight and drifting it over his fingertips before letting it rest on his elbow so as not to startle him. “You've told me why. I understand. He must go to her, and then Emma will come.”

 

He shakes his head violently. “No. No. If anyone deserves a child to love and to care for, it is you. He goes to her because she will not love him- not in the way he needs. And then he will be the one to find Emma- he will be the reason Emma comes.” He presses a fist to his lips. “Don't you understand?”

 

The air in the car becomes charged; anger drifting off of him, the rage that was hiding coiled in his bones finally releasing. “No.” Her voice bites out of her lips. “So tell me.”

 

He turns the wheel hard, pulling them to the side of the road and shifting the car into park with a frantic gesture. He turns, gripping her by the shoulders. His touch isn't gentle, but the anger in it isn't directed at her. She's anything but afraid: the feel of him touching her- absent for so long now- is more a relief than anything. “She will not love him. She will pretend, and she will want to, and maybe even in her own broken way she will try- but this is the woman who cut out her own father's heart to enact this curse. She does not deserve a child. Not when you go without.” 

 

Belle looks down, her chin quivering, not for fear of him, or for sadness, but for the sheer force of relief of understanding why he's been so distant for so long. Her voice falls flat, the words that leave her lips no comfort to either of them. “What we deserve has no place in this war.”

 

He lowers his head, the anger slowly draining from his body, so much more man than magical imp in this moment. “But what about what the boy deserves? What about the things I've arranged so that I can rip him from his mother's arms and give him to  _her._ What about what Emma deserves?” She has no answer, so she stays silent. After a moment, his whisper is just loud enough for her to hear it. “The rumors of me were true, you know. I dealt in infants. But for every child I took from a mother willing to give it up- willing to sacrifice it for riches or gold or silver- I made a new mother of a woman who would have given all her earthly possessions to be able to bare a babe.” She reaches out, cupping his cheek gently, but says nothing. “I've never before given a child to a home that I wasn't completely sure was good for it.” 

 

She pulls away from him and slips out of her seat belt, reaching back out and cradling his head to her chest. “It's what we must do,” she whispers fiercely, “to save everyone.” 

 

“I didn't want you to come.” The words drip from his lips dryly, no emotion to them. 

 

She looks back out at the trees, forcing herself to be as calm as possible. “Why would you want to do this alone?”

 

He doesn't reply, but after a moment he moves out of her embrace and shifts the car back into gear. He waits until he hears the clicking of her seat belt before moving. 

 

It's only a few quiet miles before they meet a black van on the side of the road, the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign just visible a few hundred feet away. He looks at her crossly, but knows he will never stop her from getting out of the car.

 

The air is cool, a chill to it that says Fall is closer than they'd like to admit, and Belle pulls her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. A man and a woman step out of the van, and the man starts speaking with Gold in hushed tones. The woman turns back to the truck and pulls out a bright blue diaper bag, handing it over to Belle without a word. She leans further in and gently extracts a small bundle, carefully holding it out to her as Belle shifts the diaper bag on her shoulder. “Me?” Belle asks, surprised. Gold looks over at her, but is quickly pulled back into his business with the man. 

 

The woman looks at her harshly. “Much easier to put the baby seat in the car if the baby's not in it.” She shrugs. “Don't you want to hold it? Isn't it yours?”

 

“I...” Belle licks her lips, choosing her words carefully and reaching out for the child, “He's not mine.” The woman transfers him gently, and Belle cradles the squirming child to her chest as she turns back, taking the safety seat from the van and situating it in their car. Belle starts to rock gently, moving with instinct as the tiny boy scrunches up his face. “Shh, little one. You're safe,” she whispers. He lets out a little whimper when the doors to the van shut loudly, and when the engine roars to life as it backs away and turns, driving away from their small, cursed town. Belle bounces a little more, the tiny wrinkles around the baby boy's eyes softening back into sleep. 

 

Gold walks over to her, a tight expression on his face. The baby shifts in her arms, the corner of his tiny mouth lifting. “Oh, he's smiling!” Belle smiles up at her husband, already half enthralled by the baby in her arms. 

 

He harrumphs, but the tightness in his face melts away. “Too young for that. Probably soiling his diaper, actually.” Her laugh is light, something he hasn't realized he's missed until now. She looks up at him, all smiles and bright eyes and happiness with that bundle in her chest and he simply feels...betrayed. He steps back sharply, the jingling of the keys in his free hand and the tripping of the cane over the gravel like a herald for the discord to come.

 

She watches as his hand fists around his keys, shaking before he points a sharp finger at her. “That. That right there.”

 

His change has confused her. So happy one second, and so angry the next. “What?”

 

“This is why I didn't want you to come. Because now I have that moment- that picture, in my head. You and a beautiful little child and you are so... happy.” The last word leaves his lips like it breaks his heart to say it. He's shaking with the anguish. “Instead of just mere thoughts of what it might be like- thoughts that I can pretend are false and wrong and know will never come true now I have...” His chin wobbles. “Now I know it would be...” He doesn't finish, just drops his hand and limps slowly to the car. 

 

She pulls the small child tighter to her chest. Every look, every unspoken word, every cold night with inches of space between them in bed makes sense now. He was trying to protect them both, but knew of no better way than anger and avoidance. 

 

She wishes she didn't come. 

 

He stops at the open back door, looking in on the seat and giving it a shake to check for sturdiness. He straightens and she sees the exact moment he registers the frown on her face, because his anger cracks in two. He shakes his head and points to the back seat. “Nothing to be done for it now, I suppose. Let's get the wee one in.” 

 

“I didn't realize,” she says, standing stock still instead of moving. 

 

“I know,” he sighs, “Come on.” She moves forward, though she doesn't want to. It feels like this is significant, like this momentary truce is just what they need, but now there's a baby that needs to be buckled in and transported and handed over. She looks down just as she reaches her husband, the small pink child sleeping in her arms. 

 

If only he were hers. Theirs. She closes her eyes and tips up her face, blinking her eyes back open to meet his, and imaging. “Rum,” she whispers, leaning in close until the edge of her arm just touches his chest, only the space of the baby between them. “Just pretend, ok? Just pretend with me for a minute that he's ours.” Her eyes search his face for any little sign that he'll go along with it. His eyes squint, just the tiniest bit, and she knows she almost has him. “Imagine that we've just picked up  _our_ child. That he'll grow up, that there's no curse, that you and I are just Mr. and Mrs. Gold and this is the baby we've adopted. Just...imagine.” Her voice breaks, pleading coloring her words. 

 

He leans heavily on his cane, but she hears the sound of his keys hitting the fabric of his pocket and then his hand is at her elbow, cradling under her forearm where she holds the baby boy. He sighs, but lets his forehead drop to hers. “What would you name him, my love?”

 

She closes her eyes and purses her lips together, the feel of his breath on her lips a call back to days that she doesn't think about any more, a life that she's said goodbye to for now. He's far closer than he has been in months, the intimacy he's offering reminds her only of how distant he's been. “Ryan,” she whispers, “Gaelic for king.” 

 

His nose rubs hers until it is flush against her cheek. “And his room?” 

 

“Blue. With the beautiful glass mobile from the shop-”

 

“That was supposed to belong to his mother,” he offers. 

 

“His now. Mahogany woods. Crib, not a cradle, and a rocking chair big enough for all three of us, at least until he's bigger.” 

 

He has to clear his throat before he can speak again. “When he begins to crawl?”

 

“Gates, great wooden ones all over the house, but they'll stop you more than they'll stop him.” Her whisper ends in a chuckle, and she can almost feel his smile, but she doesn't dare open her eyes. She hears a soft clink, and then his other hand is flush on her cheek, his fingers tangling in the hair behind her ear. 

 

His whisper is low and heavy with emotion. “And when he walks?”

 

“Locks on all the doors and cabinets. All your trinkets will have to be hidden away. He'll be feisty and want to climb, as well. I'll have to stop working at the Library to take care of him.” 

 

He doesn't hesitate, wrapped up in the fantasy now. “You could come visit me at the shop.”

 

She presses her cheek to his, relishing the feel of his skin. “Bring his Daddy lunch and tea. You would tell him fantastic stories.” 

 

His lips graze the crest of her ear. “And when he grows?”

 

“He'll be smart, too smart for his own good- like you. But a proper little gentleman, as well.” She pulls back, nudging her nose into the softness of his cheek, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. 

 

“And older?” he prompts. 

 

“Ten,” she whispers fiercely. “He's never more than ten in my head.”

 

And he kisses her. His hand pressing around to the back of her head, holding her lips tight to his. It's a blur of tongues and teeth and ragged breaths as emotion spills out of them. “I can see him,” Rumpel whispers, slowing the kiss but nipping at her lips with his, a desperate feeling still hanging between them. “Belle, I can see him.”

 

“So can I, Rum.” She drags her lips along his as she pulls her head back. The baby is squirming in her arms, tiny mittened hands trying to escape from the swaddling. She looks down at the child, tucking the blanket tight against the chill. She sighs, the frown back on her swollen lips, “This isn't him, though.”

 

He shakes his head. “No.” She pulls from his hands, turning and gently laying the child in the car seat. Over her shoulder he points at the small straps and tells her where they buckle, letting her crouch in the back of the car and saving the strain on his leg. He takes her hand and helps her out, kissing first her knuckles, then her lips when she stands before him. “I love you.” His declaration is laden with intent and emotion, but the words are so seemingly simple. 

 

“And I you, Rumpelstiltskin.” They stand in the quiet of the forest for a brief second holding each other's gaze, both afraid that if they move this moment that they've found will be lost, but unable to move forward any further with the weight of their task ahead of them. They slip back into the front of the car quietly, the engine roaring to life and in a few short minutes they're driving back towards town, Belle twisted in her seat to watch the sleeping child. 

 

“She'll be horrible to him,” she whispers, “Even if she doesn't mean to- you're right, there's hate in her heart.”

 

“I know,” his voice is resigned. “But I have a plan.”

 

Belle turns to him, her eyes wide. “Oh?”

 

Gold reaches out, squeezing her hand quickly before putting it back on the wheel to negotiate a curve. “She won't intentionally hurt him, but we'll keep an eye on him anyway. He'll need people to go to when his mother is showing her true colors. A friendly librarian should do the trick, don't you think?” She smiles up at him, noticing the tiniest beginnings of a smirk in the corner of his mouth, but lets him continue. “I've also been looking for a very special book.”

 

“Sounds like a very interesting plan,” she says softly, letting her hand rest on his shoulder. 

 

His smile is tight lipped and still stiff, but it's more than she's gotten from him in months. “I think you'll find the details very interesting.” 

 

They're not fixed, not by a long shot, but the truce is a start, going a long way to soothe the hurt she's felt. They don't speak again for nearly the whole ride into town. She pretends it to keep the baby from waking, but she knows it's because there are no words to be said yet. 

 

She uses the time to think, to sort the emotions and facts and words of this short car trip, to try to find a way to categorize them in the life that she and her husband have built over the last eighteen years. She finds she can't- the way he'd been over the last few months had her to her breaking point more than once. Even compared to his coldest, cruelest moments back in the castle his behavior lately made no sense to her. The trees slowly give way to houses, then stores, and she knows they are nearing a moment from which they can never turn back. Right now they're just chipped- she doesn't want them to shatter. 

 

“Rum? Drop me home, please.” Belle says just before they reach the light to turn- opposite directions will take them home or to the Mayor's house. 

 

“Oh?” He asks, genuinely surprised. He flips the blinker for the way home as they come to rest at the light. 

 

“I didn't mean to hurt you by coming today. I thought I'd be more help if I were here. But now,” she takes a deep breath and checks on the still sleeping child as they make the turn, “Now I can't fathom making you watch me hand him over to Regina. I won't make you have that memory.” 

 

He closes his eyes and a shaky breath draws from his mouth as they slow to a stop. “Thank you."

  


* * *

 

He finds her back at home, staring out of the picture window to the sunset over the empty back yard. “It's done?” She asks without turning. 

 

“Yes,” he whispers back, leaving his cane lying against a wall and moving to stand behind her, his hands falling to her hips. 

 

She leans back to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “A swing set would be lovely just there in the back, don't you think?” She doesn't let him answer, just keeps rambling. “But it wouldn't get any use, so I was thinking maybe a garden. A trellis with some morning glories, maybe some sunflowers... cyclamen, for sure- they're inside out, just like this world...”

 

He cuts her off, desperately whispering the words he's been thinking all afternoon. “I could get us a child.” His fingers squeeze almost painfully into her hips. “I could do it. If I could track that boy down for her, I could find us a beautiful baby- a boy or a girl. One that needs a home, one that would-”

 

“Don't,” she whispers harshly. 

 

His teeth are clenched, the words slipping out. “But I could.”

 

Her hands cover his, her fingers interlocking until their fists rest over her perpetually flat stomach. “You could, but you shouldn't. We'd love a child, oh, Rum, how we'd love it, but Regina would use it to hurt us. And what happens when the curse is broken? It wouldn't be ours, it wouldn't belong in our world with us, could we even take it with us when we go back? And would it be part of the curse as well? Would any babe we get know that it's friends don't grow up? Would it be fair? There are too many questions, too many ways it could go wrong.” Her voice is weary with regret and sadness, of thoughts pondered over one too many times. 

 

“You've been thinking about this.” He tips his head down, burying his face in her hair, wishing to hide from the world. 

 

She untangles one hand and drifts it up, letting her fingers drift through his hair and holding him close to her. “I know you, Rumpelstiltskin. I knew the offer would come sooner or later.”

 

He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, the lingering trace of dust and sunlight on her skin. “Belle, I wish...”

 

“I know you do, and I love you for wanting to...” There is no question in her voice, but her tone is still sad, still as lost as she was this morning. 

 

When she says nothing more, he kisses her where her shoulder meets her neck and limps away, leaving her to her thoughts as she did him for so many months. 

* * *

She slips into bed silently, but turns and crosses the imaginary line that's been drawn for so many nights now she can't recall the last time she slept in his arms. He turns as well and doesn't hesitate to wrap her tightly in his embrace. Their bodies breathe a single sigh of relief, two missing pieces made whole again as muscles drain away tension and relax into one another. The weight of the last few months is still there, but it grows smaller with each passing second. 

 

“If it's a girl,” he whispers in the dark of their room, “what would you name her?"

 

She doesn't need any time to think. “Adorlee, French for beloved one.”

 

“When she's small?” he whispers, running his hands over her sides.

 

Belle arches into his touch. “She'll be difficult and headstrong, just like her Papa.” 

 

His lips find her collarbone. “Her room?” he whispers into her skin.

 

She runs her fingers through his hair, as soft as she remembers. “Purple and white, filled with flowers and rich fabrics.”

 

He slips a knee between her legs, pulling her body flush with his. “And I'll stay home most days. The Pawn Shop can open once the Library's closed.”

 

Belle laughs low in her throat. “She'll be a daddy's girl. She'll have you wrapped around her little finger.”

 

“Like her mother,” he says, his hand running over the swell of her hip and tickling the skin of her thigh, “And she'll be just as beautiful as you, too.” 

 

She shifts against him, tucking her head into the nook below his neck and gently kissing his Adam's apple. “I like to pretend, Rum.” 

 

He sighs, the breath slipping over her skin like a caress. “Eighteen years of pretending, we're very good at it.” 

 

She cranes her head up, her lips desperate for the feel of his. They've always been so much better at actions than words, and the feel of his hands running under her nightshirt, the cool touch of his callused hands over the soft skin of her back and the slip of his teeth on her earlobe does more for her soul than a thousand apologies. Her leg curls over his hip, pulling him closer, and she feels whole again. 


End file.
